


What Is Left When We Are Gone

by Jenksjinx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, F/M, Family Drama, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksjinx/pseuds/Jenksjinx
Summary: After the death of their father and the decline of the family business, the Stark siblings gather on an island to play a game of thrones to determine who will become the next CEO of Stark Enterprises. But like any game of thrones, you win or you die.Inspired by the Agatha Christie story And Then There Were None.





	What Is Left When We Are Gone

It was a dreary day. Although that could hardly describe how utterly dismal it was. November on the island of Dragonstone was brutal. The waves crashing against the rocks, the winds howling through the barren castle. The Night was forceful driving what little sun there was away at only four-thirty in the afternoon leaving only gray skies, dark clouds, and heavy rain. The forecast says that’s the last bit of sun we’ll have for the rest of the weekend and in its place, enough rain to drown us all.

Why my brother chose to live here I’ll never understand. His bride’s family tucked their estate away from the mainland onto this rocky crag generations ago. The legend of the Targaryens were borne from the molten rocks that encircle this place. Porous, sharp edges created by the old gods in the image of dragons to ward off any who sought to bring conflict here. It’s said that any who dare to set foot on this island with the intent to harm its residents will be promised fire and blood.

I sweep my eyes to the dock where a couple are making their way up the winding stone stairs, though how they made it through the thrashing water is a miracle. Grey is attending to the small wooden boat, dragging it out of the surf and tying a dark grey tarp over it. He stakes it down but I don’t think it will hold in this weather. I stare at the visitors through the window from the second floor landing. They are specks of people but I can make out who they are easily enough, my brother Robb and his wife Margaery.

A formal dinner is served promptly at six in the dining hall, perhaps the last meal for some. Expensive cuts of meat, fresh shellfish, aged bottles of wine, decadent desserts. The silence is loud as I sit at the head of the table. My brothers and sister acknowledge me with a “hello” or a quick nod in my direction. However, they stare daggers at each other and the quiet continues until they adjourn to their rooms for a respite until the game begins.

After a long, hot shower and a change of clothes, I look at myself in the reflection of the chipped gold mirror in my suite. I adjust my hair pin to secure the last red strand. I wipe my palms on the front of my green dress removing any wrinkles and put on a stern smile to greet my family in the foyer. Though this isn’t my home, I have been chosen as the hostess for the weekend, since I am the sole sibling not participating. As I descend the staircase I feel a bead of sweat trickle it’s way down the nape of my neck and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t want to be nervous and I won’t show them that I am. I will simply host this game and not get involved no matter what happens.

This game had been a tradition in my family for generations, a way to mark those worthy of leading the Stark family into great success while weeding out the weak and preventing the destruction of our house. However, the tradition died when my great great grandfather Brandon lost his two brothers and declared it a forbidden practice and decreed that the oldest child would be the head of the family, thus creating harmony. Until now.

I walk through the foyer hearing the rain and hail assaulting the front entrance. After walking into the parlor the double doors promptly shut behind me. Cigar smoke and bourbon assault my senses but they wouldn’t know it. They must trust that I have everything in control, that I am in control. I hold back a cough and the sting in my eyes and see that the room has fallen silent, and their attention is on me. I walk forward assuredly with my head high and my face neutral. I stand directly beside the gaudy chair next to the fireplace. Deep purple velvet tufts with gold trimmed wooden framing and an iron hilted halo of swords jutting from the back. A throne fit for a king. Or queen.

I face the group and look at them each deep in their eyes, an acceptance not reflecting the shame and fear I feel. They each look back at me waiting for the inevitable.

And so the game begins.

“Welcome to the Red Wedding,” I say as the clock above the fireplace strikes eight and an ominous bolt of lightning streaks the sky with a crack of thunder right behind it.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have chapter one. Be kind, this is my first Modern AU and second published story.
> 
> Critiques are always welcome.


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